Holder Looked at Her
by FightingforJoy
Summary: Holder looked at her, really looked at her in all her brokenness, sobbing against the column of the gummed, tagged and chipped cement. She was glancing between the boy, not-her-son, not-her-whole-life-wrapped-in-plastic and the little sliver of gray sky visible from her crouched position. Jack was still out there.


Holder Looked at Her

Pairing: Holder/Linden

Fandom: The Killing

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Killing_ or its respective characters. This story was written in honor of those characters because I appreciate and love them so.

Holder looked at her, really looked at her in all her brokenness, sobbing against the column of the gummed, tagged and chipped cement. She was glancing between the boy, not-her-son, not-her-whole-life-wrapped-in-plastic and the little sliver of gray sky visible from her crouched position._ Jack was still out there._

Her gasped cries quieted and he reached, tentatively, to touch her quivering shoulder. He was surprised when she allowed him to touch her, even more surprised that he felt the give in the jacket, an indicator of the warm human skin beneath. His spindly fingers curled over her shoulder, almost encasing the whole jointed edge and he marveled at her smallness.

Holder dragged his hand down and rubbed her back, in a half-hearted attempt to comfort. Linden's spine was notched and tight, rising up and down with unsteady breaths. He didn't know how to deal with this, _this – _whatever Linden was right now. So far he had dealt with the many masks that she was capable of putting on but this was a new one. He had created a list in his head of how to cope with all of her masks (otherwise, he might just end up dead in the water with this case AND his partner).

With an Angry Linden it was best to just keep quiet. Let the red-head stew her ass off, she'd calm down and get her head in the game faster than he could argue with a fast food woman about his nohamnoburger-hamburger.

Joking Linden – smile and nod. The rarity that was her jibs never failed to make him shake his head and run a hand through his scruffy hair in surprise. Her upturned lips took him aback, _what was he supposed to do when she looked at him like that?_

Hardass Cop Linden – her most familiar mask, and he better be on his toes ballerina-style or be left in the dust. He loved seeing her face down men twice her size with a rigid brow and icy blues. Most people were intimidated by this look, and he had to admit he was sometimes too. She looked so big despite her stature. It's probably all those sweaters she wears.

Mama Linden – endearing and sad, he would joke to lighten her mood. Toss out a tidbit about himself, his past, anything to ground her again. She wasn't all that bad, just needed a spit-shine or two. Or seven. Little man loved her, too. Despite all her crazy.

If all else failed? Emergency protocol was to offer her a cig, a peace offering, to which she'd either roll her eyes and pop a nicorette or snatch it from his fingertips, eyes hungry and hands shaking. She'd be beside him, close enough to touch, with blades of smoke slicing from her mouth, cutting through his as he would watch her wheels turning behind that fiery red scalp.

But seeing her now was a different kind of animal.

Desperate Linden was a mask he'd never seen. But maybe, just maybe, this one wasn't a mask at all. This wasn't something she was hiding. This was all her, bare and skin and bone, emotions pulsing at the top of her skin – raw, unfiltered.

Holder liked to forget that she was human, it was so much easier to imagine her like a mythical shieldmaiden, armor plated and cold. A battle-scarred warrior woman, kind of like Eowyn from _Lord of the Rings _whipping of her helmet and slaying the darkened Witch King with a battle cry of ancient human sorrow, a woman's heartbreak. Now she trembled before him, made of fingers and toes and that god-awful spandex she called her running gear. It was unnatural.

To forgo her humanness meant that he could brush off her snide comments and biting witticisms as part of her on-going campaign for justice and truth – the living embodiment of police regulation and dauntless strength. But now he _saw_.

Linden.

Friend.

Partner.

Mother.

Woman.

_Sarah._

He could not unsee the pallor of her skin, the glistening of tears and spit that had collected at the corners of her reddened mouth indicated she was very much alive. How those freckles stood out from her blood-drained face, sparkled in his memory in hi-def. She was all ragged breath and worry, borderline panicked and unspeakably relieved.

"Look, Linden. _Sarah._" Her name came out soft, his brow twitched in concern. He opened his eyes a little wider, taking her in. As his hand ran up and down her spine, he counted the ridges beneath the coat (She needed to eat, _when was the last time_?).

His fingers brushed the fringe of her flame-colored hair. All he has ever known how to be was blunt. Gentleness did not come easy to him, especially not with the most abrasive woman in the whole city. Cuddling sandpaper would be easier, and probably preferable in many cases.

But now as he looked at her, he knew that this – their partnership, friendship, temporary alliance, whatever it was – was something he thought worth protecting. He closed his eyes as she pulled away.

"Guess what I'm not saying now?" He laughed, halfheartedly. "Go on, get outta here." He felt half-empty. She was sucking away part of himself as she moved, siphoning off his trust. _Don't leave me behind. Linden. I'll be here when you get back. _

He knew she'd be back, well, at least, he'd hoped. Hoped she wouldn't and hoped she would. He wanted to believe that leaving would make her happy, that Sonoma would be the end all be all.

The smile on her face was enough for him to swallow those words back into the dark widening pit of his stomach. He'd think about those words later and all those vomit-inducing feelings erupting in him while he was alone. But right now he just wanted that image of her – smiling.

He watched her back recede through the doorway. Puffy coat disguising her sharp edges and diminutive figure, and he knew then that she would be the one to bring him back to life – his anchor, not necessarily because he needed her (God, Buddah and all of heaven knew he did) but because she needed him. That had never happened before. She made him feel worth something, like the man the meth had taken away. Little by little, Linden let him earn it back. She didn't give her trust away, which made it all that much sweeter when she did.

And in that moment, as she walked away into what he thought was forever, Holder really looked at her. And he'd be damned if he didn't already miss her.


End file.
